


There Must Be More To Life

by Morpheus626



Series: My Melancholy Blues [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: FTM Reader, M/M, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Another melancholy fic, to try and lift the melancholy on myself.Some Freddie/Reader (not directly addressed in the fic, but this is a trans, FTM reader again, solely because I could and I'm letting myself be self-indulgent tonight.) This is another one of the reader struggling with depression, this time with a focus on how it effects sleep and appetite.TW for depression, disordered eating patterns, and talk of depression naps.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Reader
Series: My Melancholy Blues [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076555
Kudos: 4





	There Must Be More To Life

“You need to eat.”

Freddie’s voice is warm, but strong. He’s been at this since lunch, when the most you managed was heating up a plate of already barely-edible leftovers in the microwave, only to pick at them and finally toss them away.

“I know,” you reply without opening your eyes. Napping has been the easiest thing to do for the last day or so, even though you know you shouldn’t indulge it too much. It’ll turn into a pattern, if you aren’t careful, and that pattern of depression naps and nothing else is always hard to break.

“Then let’s sit up, and figure out food,” Freddie prompts you.

“Give me another five?”

“No,” he says, and you can’t keep your eyes shut as he grabs you, gently, and sets you up to sitting on the couch, rather than laying on it. Before you can lay back down, he’s plunked himself down beside you. “You’ve had ‘another five’ over the past four hours. You need to get up and eat, and drink some water, and move, even if it’s just walking to a different couch in a different room.”

“But I like this couch,” you try to joke, but he doesn’t so much as giggle.

“Please,” he’s not quite begging, but he’s close to it. “I can’t sit and worry about you like this; you know what it does to me.”

You do, and you know it isn’t fair to him. He had planned to work on songs today, sat at the grand piano a room over. Instead, he’s spent most of it checking in on you, trying to prompt you to food or water or movement. You’ve heard the piano maybe twice the whole day.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “That’s not enough of an apology either, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” he sighs, and pulls you close, so your head leans against his shoulder and chest. “But it’s enough for me. I know you can’t exactly help this-”

“I’m not doing much to cope with it today though,” you admit.

He nods. “Thank you for owning up to it. I can’t imagine that’s easy.”

“No, but it’s a part of this whether I like it or not. I’ve got to own when I’m not handling this well, or I can’t work towards handling it better in the future.”

He squeezes you tight to him and wraps another arm around you for a moment. “I know you might not feel it right now, but you’re a good person, Y/N.”

“But I’d be a better one if I ate?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Let me order something, if nothing else. Whatever it takes, so long as you eat.”

Delivery is the unfortunate shorthand solution to this issue with food you have in the depths of it all, and you don’t like that, but Freddie and your therapist are quick to remind you it doesn’t matter so long as you’re at least eating.

You shrug, and shiver against him. “I guess. I just don’t feel that hungry.”

“I know,” he says, and you know he does. He’s always listened intently when you’ve explained how the worst days with your depression make you feel, how they fuck with your appetite. “But I heard your stomach growl earlier. You’ve got to at least try and eat.”

He reaches to the coffee table in front of the couch, and hands over a delicate tea cup. “It’s just water, but I thought the cup might make it more fun to drink, at least?”

You take it gently, and let yourself smile. “It does. Fancy water, is what this is.”

“If I order soup, we can probably put that in a tea cup too,” Freddie muses. “If you think it would help.”

You haven’t done much laughing in the last few days, but that gets a giggle. “It might, but you don’t have to do that. We can just get whatever sounds good to you, and I’ll make myself eat.”

He waits until you’ve set the cup down on the table again before he leans in to kiss you. “Alright, I’ll take that. At least you’ll be awake and eating.”

“I promise I’ll try to stay awake after we eat,” you say, and you mean it. “...could I maybe sit in while you work? If you don’t mind, of course.”

You try not to intrude on his song-writing sessions, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit they were a comfort to listen to, even if parts of them were Freddie swearing under his breath adorably at a phrase or measure.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “There’s a couch in there as well, even.”

At anyone else that might have been a dig, but you’ve been with him long enough to know he’s joking. “Yeah, but it’s one of the antique ones. Not very comfortable, and I’m half-afraid I’ll break it if I breathe funny while I’m on it.”

“All the more reason to stay awake and not snore then,” he smirks playfully.

“I do not snore that loudly!”

“But you do snore,” he laughs. “Stay awake long enough for me to get the takeaway menus, alright? I’ll be back.”

You let yourself lean on the couch while you wait, but you don’t let your eyes close. He’s putting all this effort into keeping you afloat, the least you can do is try to help, and kick until you tread water.


End file.
